Ghost Writer COMPLETE
by Mira Spiegel
Summary: A psychic comes to Tashmore Lake and finds an interesting ghost haunting the grounds. She also crosses paths with Mort Rainey who is unaware of her conversations with the ghost that is retelling the events from two months ago.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Secret Window, I'm just playing with the wonderful characters. I'm not making any money on this. I hope you enjoy it as much I as I enjoy writing it! Reviews rock my world! Flames, well, don't.

Ghost Writer

Chapter One: Bump in the Night

"Do you know how it will end?"

"I'm thinking it's going to be a murder-suicide."

The lighter haired of the women paused in her mixing of the cookie dough. "Honestly, Anna, do all your stories have to end with someone dying?"

"Kate, I only write what these people tell me and since they're dead, yes, all my stories have to end with someone dying."

"Well, I just wish you were able to walk away completely from your job."

Anna, whose hair was a shade redder than her sister's, sighed deeply and popped a couple chocolate chips into her mouth. "Everyone deserves to have their story told."

"But some stories should be left alone. And besides, you're here to relax, recuperate, not take dictation from a ghost."

Anna knew better than to fight with her older sister, especially about this subject. Kate refused to believe her when she told her sister about the female ghost haunting the grounds of Tashmore Glen. Their mother was already in a mental institution with schizophrenia and from some of the looks people from Tashmore gave her, Anna believed it wouldn't be long before she ended up as her mother's roommate.

"You're right, Kate," Anna acquiesced. "I'm going to bed."

Kate looked over at the oven clock. "It's only eight, Anna."

"Well, then, I guess I'll get plenty of rest then."

"Anna-"

"Good night," Anna waved over her shoulder and headed up the stairs. It wasn't even dark yet but the sun had started it's fiery descent in the sky. Anna sat on her bed in the guest room and stared out the window. The lake glittered in the waning sunlight, having an almost mesmerizing affect on her. There was only one cabin visible from her room, and that belonged to the town eccentric, Morton Rainey.

She had seen him at a very great distance, not close enough to even get a good look at him. In fact, she had purposefully kept her distance from him because she hadn't read any of his books as of yet and considered it rude to be neighbors with a best selling author and never have read his books. But the towns folk of Tashmore were more than happy to tell her about the strange disappearance of his wife and her lover. Some even went so far as to accuse Morton Rainey of murdering them himself. Of course, Anna didn't believe a word of it.

The people of Tashmore loved urban legends and who better a main character in myth than an eccentric writer. But Anna found that most visitors to the lake were the object of speculation, even some of the permanent residents, like her sister. Kate was accepted because her husband was a contractor and Kate was a stay-at-home mom of two kids, Jonathon and Sara. The perfect family…until Kate's "crazy" sister came to spend the summer.

Anna fell back on her bed and covered her eyes with her arm. She heard the whispered comments from the locals whenever she went to the store. "Just like her mother," or "what a shame, I hear she's very smart," or her personal favorite, "don't let her and Rainey put their heads together, the whole of Tashmore would disappear."

Anna ground her teeth together, trying to shut out the voices of the townspeople, her own conscience and the presence of the ghost wandering around the lake, not sure why she was there.

"Too many voices."

A yell startled Mort Rainey so much he had jumped up from the computer. Night had fallen hours ago but it didn't matter anymore. Ever since March, when he had woken up on the couch and found braces on his teeth and an overflow of corn in his kitchen, he hadn't slept more than a hour a day. It was as if he had been sleeping for years and had just woken up from some really bad nightmare that now he couldn't remember. He then found that he didn't want to remember whatever horrible circumstance might have befallen him in that eight month time period he couldn't seem to remember.

He crept over to the small window that was closest to his desk and peered down into the garden. A woman was walking through the rows of corn sprouts, her head bowed, like she was looking for something. He didn't know why he was thankful it wasn't the sheriff with a shovel. The woman stood up to her full height and looked around the area before yelling out again.

"Where are you?"

Mort pushed the window open and leaned his head out. "Miss?"

"You told me you would be here!"

"Miss?" he shouted louder.

"Where are you?"

Then it dawned on Mort what was going on…she was sleepwalking, hence her ignoring his calls. Interesting. She wasn't dressed for the chilly night air and Mort could see her shivering from the second story window. However, he did remember that it wasn't good to wake a sleepwalker. Opting to follow her around for a little bit (what else did he have to do?) he grabbed a sweater from his room and headed outside.

She had wandered away from the garden, but Mort didn't see her anywhere. He looked around the corn sprouts and found her footprints, she was barefoot from the looks of it, and followed them down to the lake where they disappeared into the water. Without thinking, Mort pulled off his robe and dropped the sweater before rushing into the ice cold water.

He could see something bright flash in the water and reached blindly to grasp it. He fingers connected briefly with hair and plunged head first into the water. He could see her outline and grabbed her arms, heaving her up to the surface. The contact must have awoken her because by the time he resurfaced, she was coughing and spitting out water. He supported her as best he could until they both collapsed on the bank.

"We…we can't stay here," Mort managed to say through chattering teeth. He watched as the trespasser, a very slightly built young woman, nodded her head between coughs. He pushed himself up and helped her to stand. He draped the ratty bathrobe and sweater around her shoulders and kept an arm around her waist as they walked back to his house.

"I'm Mort Rainey."

She reguarded him with a slightly surprised look, one that he had grown used to seeing, before she shyly looked away from him. "I'm Anna."


	2. Like Minded

Disclaimer: I don't own Secret Window, and I'm not making money off this story.

Ghost Writer

Chapter Two: Like Minded

Anna rested her forehead against the cold glass of the passenger side window of Mort Rainey's Black Jeep. She tried to bury herself in the warmth of the clothes he had graciously lent her after the brief swim in the ice cold lake. He had been nothing but a quiet, shy gentleman through the entire embarrassing situation which only made Anna want to sink further into the seat.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Rainey," she said for the tenth time.

He smiled graciously in her direction. "I told you, it's not a problem."

"I must have woken you up though."

"No, actually you didn't."

"Then I interrupted your writing." She could tell from the brief look on his face that he was grasping for words. So she had interrupted his writing. But he merely shrugged.

"Nothing I can't pick up when I get back home. I'm just relieved you didn't drown. I would hate to explain that to the Sheriff. He already wants a piece of me for some reason."

"Is that why you don't shop in town?"

"Yeah. I don't know what I did to piss off the people of Tashmore, but it must have been something big."

Anna stared at him to see if he was joking but his eyes stayed on the road, a serious look on his face. "You mean you haven't heard the rumors?"

"The rumors that I killed my wife and her boyfriend? Yeah, I heard them. I just didn't think that the Sheriff would put much stock in the rumor mill. Maybe they really think I did it."

"Well, I don't believe the rumors. God knows there's been plenty spread about me."

She heard a short laugh come from Mort. "Really? Well, I don't make it into town to hear them, so please, do tell."

Anna chewed on her thumbnail. She probably shouldn't have mentioned anything about the rumors surrounding herself. But something told her that he would understand. Or at least not laugh at her. "Everyone thinks I'm crazy."

"Ah. Trust me when I say I know what that feels like. Everyone thinks writers have a screw loose."

Anna nodded her head. "They think if your mother has a mental illness that you must have it too."

Mort nodded his head solemnly. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Anna watched her sister's house come into view and directed Mort to what driveway was Kate's. "I really appreciate everything you did for me, Mr. Rainey."

"Not a problem, really."

Anna opened the door just as she saw Kate come flying out of the screened in porch, bathrobe flying and cordless phone in her hand. "Good night, Mr. Rainey."

"Good night, Anna."

She shut to door and heard the crunch of gravel as he backed out of the driveway. Kate had a steady stream of questions coming out of her mouth so fast Anna couldn't keep them all straight. She held her hands up to slow her older sister down.

"I'm alright, Kate."

"Where'd you go? Were you sleepwalking again? I knew I shouldn't have let you go to bed that early. Who was that?"

"Kate!" Anna grabbed a hold of her sister's shoulders. "I was sleepwalking but I'm sure it had nothing to do with what time I went to bed. I ended up on Morton Rainey's property and he brought me home. OK?"

Kate seemed to process what her sister had told her and then took notice of her strange wardrobe. "Why are you wearing different clothes?"

Anna sighed. She wanted to keep that particular detail from her sister but didn't have any such luck. "I, uh, kind of fell into the lake."

"What!"

"I'm fine, don't worry. Look, let's go to bed."

Kate took a couple calming breaths before loosing her grip on the telephone. "Fine, but I don't want you to step foot on that man's property again." Unexpectedly, Kate pulled Anna into a firm hug. "I might not have ever seen you again."

"Well, I do have to go back tomorrow."

"What? No."

Anna gave her sister a crooked grin. "I have to return his clothes, don't I?"

"We'll mail them."

"Kate," Anna sighed in exasperation before heading into the house. A sense of weariness settled over her as she climbed the stairs to the guest bedroom. She was aware of Kate following her, trying to come up with something new to fuss over with her but thankfully she didn't. Anna threw a whispered "good night" over her shoulder before closing her bedroom door.

If Anna hadn't been afraid of seeing strange people in strange places, then the man standing in the corner of her bedroom would have frightened her. Instead, his presence merely startled her but after feeling the chill in the air, she realized another ghost of Tashmore Lake had found her.

"I'm very tired," she told him, "perhaps you could come back tomorrow."

He tipped his black felt hat to her. "That'll be just fine," he said in a strong Southern drawl. Anna pulled the covers up around her neck and settled into the warmth of her sheets.

"What's your name?" she asked through a yawn, sleep already clouding her mind when he answered.

"My name is John Shooter, ma'am. I'll see you tomorrow then."


	3. Unlikely Friendship

Ghost Writer

Chapter Three: Unlikely Friendship

Anna woke up in mid-air before she landed on the soft mattress only to be bounced into the air again. Her niece, Sarah, had decided to give her the usual wake up call. Anna reached out blindly and finally grasped the five year old by the shoulders which stopped all the bouncing.

"Sarah, hun, what time is it?"

The five year old glanced over at the bed side clock. "Six-oh-oh."

"Ok, what did I tell you about waking me up at six-oh-oh?"

Sarah pouted as only a young child can. "Not to wake you up before eight-oh-oh."

"That's right." Anna fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes but she could still feel Sarah staring at her. "What?"

"I don't like your robe. It's ugly and it's got a hole in it."

Anna looked down and realized she had slept in the clothes that Mort had lent her, including his bathrobe from the looks of it. "Oh great." Anna dragged herself out of bed and shrugged out of the robe. She seriously didn't know if she had caused the rip or if it had been handed to her that way. Studying the tear she realized she could mend it quite easily despite her lack of sowing skills. Getting an idea, Anna turned to Sarah who was still bright eyed in the sunrise light.

"Why don't you go jump on your mom and dad?"

Sarah crinkled her nose. "They make funny noises in the morning and roll around in bed a lot."

Anna rubbed her eyes, trying to get the mental image out of her head. "Figures. Come on then, I'll make you breakfast and you can help me do laundry."

"Okay!" Sarah bounded from the bed and took off down the stairs. Anna stripped off the borrowed clothes and put on her New York Hard Rock Café shirt and a pair of jeans before heading downstairs for a very early start to the day. By the time she made it to the kitchen, Sarah had graciously poured both of them a glass of orange juice before pouring the rest all over the floor.

"It's going to be one of those days, isn't it?" Anna asked the five year old.

"Looks that way."

The morning actually didn't turn out as terrible as Anna believed it to be. She made pancakes for the entire family, though Sarah and her were the only ones that ate them hot off the griddle. There were enough clothes for one load so that didn't take more than an hour and half. Then the mending job was easier than she had anticipated and here she was at eleven o'clock in the morning, riding her mountain bike towards the forbidden property of Mort Rainey.

Her sister had greeted her with stony silence the entire morning as if by not talking to her would prevent her from returning the clothes. It might have worked had they been six and eight again, not thirty-two and thirty-four. The writer's lake house came quickly into view and she was surprised at how old it looked. It must have been one of the original structures out here around the lake. Anna propped her bike against the peeling red siding and unhooked the backpack from her shoulders.

She opened the door to the screened in porch but didn't catch it in time as it slammed shut. Surprising her even further was when Mort Rainey himself jumped up from one of the chairs at the end of porch. Anna felt an embarrassed heat come over her face and she wanted nothing more than to just disappear.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rainey, I thought you would be inside."

He gave her a slight laugh, slightly tinged with the breathlessness of being startled. "That's ok. At least you're not sleepwalking this time."

"True," Anna pulled the clothes from the backpack. "I washed them for you and I wanted to return them. I, uh, didn't know if I was responsible for the hole in the robe so I mended that too."

Mort took the clothes with upraised eyebrows. "Wow, to what do I owe the skilled laundering services?"

"For not letting me drown for starters."

"All in a, uh, night's work."

Anna found herself surprised by Mort Rainey. From the stories that were spread around town, she expected him to wild eyed, hair in every direction, wearing torn and dirty clothing and unable to string two words together. She found him to be very quiet, unassuming and…quite good looking.

"Do you want to sit down?" he offered, pointing a rustic looking rocking chair.

"Sure. That is, if you don't have anything planned?"

"Oh no. Today's Saturday, my day off. I try not to write on weekends and just give myself a day off to rest and recuperate my mind."

"I wish I had those days," Anna said as she sat down in the chair.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'd tell you but I'm afraid you'd laugh at me."

"I promise not to laugh."

"But what if you do?"

He looked up to the ceiling and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm…then I guess you'd have every right to leave."

Anna laughed at the logic. "Fair enough. I'm a psychic for the New York Police Department. They call me in when all the leads go cold and try to find the friendly neighborhood ghost who can help me out."

"That's not funny. I've talked to many psychics before for research on a book."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think it's incredible what you guys do. How many cases have you solved?"

"Helped solve, would be the appropriate phrasing and it's up to twenty-three now."

Mort nodded his thoughtfully. "I write books."

"You do?" Anna feigned surprise.

"Oh yeah. I even got published a couple times."

Anna found herself giggling at the ridiculous turn their conversation had taken. This was not the Mort Rainey of Tashmore Lake that everyone talked about. "I have a confession to make, Mr. Rainey."

"Call me Mort, please. And let me guess, you want my autograph."

"Actually, quite the opposite. I've never read your books. I have 'Everyone Drops the Dime' at home but I haven't read it yet."

"So you don't want my autograph?" Mort looked positively pathetic and Anna laughed out loud.

"Let me read the book first, ok?" Anna tried to resume her cool exterior. "And if it's good enough, I'll ask you for your autograph."

Mort nodded his head, bleached strands catching on the frames of his glasses. "That sounds like a good deal."

Anna bobbed her head in agreement and a companionable silence flowed between them. She looked out at the shaded view that Mort had of the lake and realized why he had chosen the old cabin instead of building one himself. There was a character to the land and the building itself. It really was relaxing.

"Would you like something to eat?" Mort asked.

"Oh, no, I don't want to intrude," Anna said as she stood up.

"Really, it wouldn't be an intrusion. I know a great deli up in New London."

Anna thought about it and found herself chewing on her thumbnail while she thought. She wanted to go but she knew Kate would be awaiting her return. But then again, Anna was an adult and fully responsible for herself. "Well, I was kind of hoping to get out of my niece's Brownie Troupe party this afternoon."

"Not sure I can be quite as exciting as a bunch of five year old girls, but if you're willing to take that risk…"

Anna gave him a full sized grin. "I'm willing."


	4. Understanding

Ghost Writer

Chapter Four: Understanding

"So what brought you to Tashmore Lake this summer?"

Anna shoved her hands into her pockets, trying to figure out how not to answer the question. Mort hadn't been lying when he said he found a great deli in New London and they had enjoyed a lengthy lunch filled with small talk. But now that they had discovered their similar likes in music, books and movies, it was apparently time for the tough questions.

"What brought _you_ to Tashmore Lake?" she countered, even though she was certain of his answer.

"I'll tell the truth if you do."

Anna nodded in agreement.

"I got a divorce and gave up my house to my cheating ex-wife."

Anna swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. "I had a nervous breakdown."

Surprisingly, all he did was nod his head, a sympathetic look on his face. "I almost reached that point. I was really depressed - slept all the time."

"My mind shut down on me. I was working a case of arson in an apartment building where a lot of children were killed. It was like all the ghosts converged on me and I closed up. For four days I sat in a corner and didn't eat, sleep or talk."

"What made you come out of it?"

"I don't know." Anna thought back to the day when she emerged from the stupor. "They just all left. There were no more voices or ghosts. It was just…"

"Quiet."

Anna felt her eyes well up and the cobblestone street of New London disappeared from her view. She hadn't found a single person since her breakdown that had treated her with understanding. Even her sister approached her as if she were waiting for some sign that the mental break was unfixable. Everyone treated her with pleasant words but the concern and apprehension were always on their faces. Everyone, that was, except Mort.

"Hey," he had reached out and touched her elbow without her even realizing he had moved closer to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Anna hastily wiped away the tears. "You didn't upset me. Quite the opposite really."

"Ah," he nodded in understanding. "I'm guessing then you haven't found a lot of support from your friends and family?"

"They try, I know that, but the way they keep acting around me it's like I've been permanently broken and no one can fix me." Anna shrugged and laughed slightly. "And I don't even feel broken."

"Some people can't forget things even when it's in your best interest if they do."

"Tell you what, Mort, the next time I hear someone talking about what happened to your missing wife, I'll give them a swift kick to the shin. And you forget that I told you about my nervous breakdown."

"That sounds like a really good deal, although a sharp 'mind your own business' might work better than a kick to the shins."

Anna grinned back at Mort and shook his outstretched hand. "Deal." She was surprised but quite content that after the handshake Mort laced his fingers with hers and kept her hand in his the rest of the walk to his Jeep.

Mort was trying to come up with an excuse, any excuse, to keep Anna at the cabin. They had spent most of the day together and night was starting to fall. He knew that she had to leave soon if she was going to make it back to her sister's house before it became too dark to ride a bike. However, he did have a Jeep Cherokee that the bike could fit inside if it did get too dark.

"I had a really nice time today, Mort."

"Me too." He had to shove his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting with them. He hadn't had this kind of companionship for a quite a while. Someone who understood what it was like to stand on that fine edge of sanity. There was no judging between them, just simple acceptance.

Anna was playing with the handlebar brakes and staring at the gravel under her sneakers. "My, uh, sister and brother-in-law are having a cookout this Saturday, if you want to, uh, to come."

"What's your sister's opinion of me?"

Anna smiled mischievously. "If she says anything I'll tell her to mind her own business. Besides, I invited you. I…I want you there."

Mort really tried to stay away from the people of Tashmore but his drive to see Anna again was greater than his need to be antisocial. "What time would you like me to be there?"

Anna's facial muscles twitched as she tried to hide the wide grin that was trying to break out. "Any time after three would be fine."

"Do I need to bring anything?"

"No," Anna shook her head, "Just you."

"I can do that."

The grin she was trying so hard to hide finally managed to break free. "Great. I'll see you on Saturday then."

"Yup." Mort waved to her as she climbed onto her bike and headed down his driveway. He stood outside for a few minutes and watched till she was out of sight and still continued to stand there. He didn't want to go inside just yet. The cabin felt too empty. He felt too empty. Laughing at himself for indulging in high school-type feelings for Anna, he turned and opened the screen door of the porch. That was when he heard the squeal of tires and the crunch of metal.

Without thinking, he ran into the cabin and dialed 911 to report a possible car accident and gave his address. He knew his cell phone, or anyone else's for that matter, wouldn't get reception all the way out here. After the call was made, Mort jumped in his Jeep and sped down his driveway, cursing himself for letting Anna ride her bike home. He should have offered to take her home.

He could see flares in the growing darkness and parked at the end of his driveway before getting out of the car. He searched the darkness for a second car, praying there was a second car that was involved but all he saw was the mangled silver mountain bike under the carriage of a four door sedan. The driver was wailing something Mort couldn't understand or just didn't want to understand. He also didn't want to get too close to the prone form lying on the side of the road but his feet took him there anyway.

The heavy beat of his own heart blocked out the sound of the hysterical driver and the sirens in the distance. All he could focus on was the pale face of Anna. She looked like she was peacefully asleep, except for the gash down the side of her face. The clothes on the right side of her body were torn, shredded on her arm and leg. Mort struggled to breathe but couldn't even remember how.

"This is your fault."

"What?" Mort looked up to see who had said that. The driver was flagging down the ambulance. Then Mort saw him. He was crouched over Anna, peering up at Mort from underneath that black felt hat.

"No, not you again."

"Yes, Mr. Rainey," John Shooter stood up to his full height and leveled Mort with a stone cold glare. "It's me again. And this," he pointed down at Anna's still body, "is your fault."


	5. Revelation

Ghost Writer

Chapter Five: Revelation

Mort sat in the antiseptic laden air of the closest emergency room waiting area. He had followed the ambulance here but wasn't allowed any further into the hospital. It was a small hospital that still sees some action. There was a teenage boy dressed in a basketball uniform with two ice packs wrapped around his wrist. A young mother was trying to quiet her crying baby in the corner. And then there was Mort, who showed no signs of being physically hurt and had no one in his company who was hurt. The head ER nurse had told him that she wasn't allowed to disclose any information concerning Anna's condition unless her family gave the ok. He highly doubted that they would allow him access to her and her condition.

The sliding glass doors opened and a small group of people bustled into the ER, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. Mort turned to see who they were and found himself staring back at Kate, Anna's older sister, her husband and two children. Mort stood up to walk over to her but she quickly averted her eyes and disappeared behind the forbidden doors that Mort was not allowed to pass through. When he turned around to return to his seat in the waiting room, he found himself staring at the last person he wanted to see: Sheriff Dave Newsome.

"Hello, Mr. Rainey."

Mort heaved a tired sigh. "Hello, Sheriff Newsome."

"You mind telling me what happened tonight?"

"Of course I wouldn't mind telling you if I had any idea what happened. But since I'm not family they're not telling me shit."

"But you are the one that called for help."

Mort tried to stare down the elderly sheriff but found himself too tired to really care whether he intimidated the cop or not. "I heard what sounded like a car accident and I reported it in case someone was hurt."

"And someone ended up being hurt, didn't they?"

"Well, it seems you already know what happened then." Mort sat back down and tried to ignore Newsome. The Sheriff had other ideas though and sat down next to Mort.

"I know that a young woman by the name of Anna was hit by car this evening around 6:45 at the end of your driveway, Mr. Rainey. So there is one thing that I don't know."

"What's that?"

"Why was my daughter coming out of your driveway?"

Mort had a snappy comeback for the old man but it quickly died on his lips. "Daughter?"

"That's right, Mr. Rainey. Kate and Anna are my daughters. And I want to know what business you have with Anna. Kate said she's been over to your place a couple times now."

Mort entertained the idea to tell Newsome that whatever "business" Anna and he had didn't concern anyone else. But he saw that it wasn't the rumor-spreading sheriff that was digging around for a reason to lock him up, but rather a concerned father.

"The first time she was sleepwalking and ended up in my front yard. I took her back home after she woke up." Mort left out the important part of when she almost drowned in the lake, figuring Anna's father probably won't want to hear about how he almost lost his daughter just a day ago.

"The next time I saw her was this morning when she brought back some clothes I had lent her from the previous night."

"Kate said that you both have been gone all day today."

Mort shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. "We went up to New London for lunch and just walked around the town. We came back, she got on her bike and left. A few minutes later I heard the accident."

Sheriff Newsome nodded thoughtfully and Mort waited for him to say something. When nothing was said and Newsome stood up to leave, Mort jumped to his feet as well.

"Could you at least tell me if she's going to be alright?"

"She'll be fine, Mr. Rainey. You can go home now." And Sheriff Newsome disappeared behind the forbidden swinging doors. Mort let out a strangled noise of frustration before turning around coming nose to nose with the only other person he could think of not wanting to see at this moment. Flashing a strained smile to the nervous looking head nurse, he made for the door, hearing the phantom footsteps of John Shooter following behind him. Once the cool night air hit him in the face did he turn to face his old nemesis.

"What do you want now?" he growled.

"I'd be a touch nicer to me if I were you, Mr. Rainey."

"I thought you were me."

"Unfortunately you and I are connected in some way but that's not here nor there. Right now I have a message from that Anna woman for you."

Mort finally stopped his fast paced trek across the dark parking lot and fixed Shooter with a glare. It unnerved him to no end to see this figure of his imagination standing before him as if he were a real man. Nothing had changed from the last time he had seen the man when he came pounding on the door of his cabin claiming Mort had stolen his story. Mort knew Shooter had a hand in the events that followed the next three days but he couldn't remember exactly what those events were. "What's the message?"

"She's fine, or least she will be. She has a busted up knee, some burns on her arms and legs and a hum dozer of scratch down her face." Shooter leaned up against the dusty black Jeep and pulled out his cigarettes. Lighting one up, he slowly exhaled the smoke into the night. "They'll be movin' her to her own room tomorrow morning. You can visit her then and no one can say 'boo' to you for doing so."

Mort crossed his arms across his chest. "Why are you doing this?"

"There's only one reason why a man does anything in this world."

"And what's that?"

Shooter fixed him with those stone gray eyes that glinted with the orange embers of the cigarette. "Why, love, Mr. Rainey."

Mort started laughing and was afraid he wouldn't be able to stop. "Love? Oh, that's a good one. You almost had me there."

"What are you laughing at, you imbecile?" Shooter angrily threw down his cigarette and ground it out on the pavement with a sharp stomp of his boot. "And you call me a hick and here you are laughing like the insane fool you are over something as beautiful as love."

"Oh, so you love her now? That's what this is all about?"

"Yes, Mr. Rainey, it is. This girl can see me, talk to me at times. I've watched her ever since she stepped foot in this god-forsaken place. And if I'm in love with a purty thing like this, then that means you are too."

Mort yanked open the driver's side door of his car. "I've known her for twenty-four hours. You may be in love with her, but I'm not."

Shooter appeared in the passenger side of the car. "Yeah, you are. You see, Mr. Rainey, you said it yourself. You are me."


	6. Give and Take

Ghost Writer

Chapter Six: Give and Take

Mort was able to easily gain access to where Anna's room was by paying off the on-duty nurse with an autographed book for her niece. His eyes roved over every hallway, room and corner that he passed, expecting to see Shooter at any given point. But why would Shooter be lurking around the hospital? If he was going to be anywhere it was going to be Anna's room. Taking a deep breath, Mort turned the corner into her room on the fifth floor, expecting either Shooter or Anna's disapproving family. But the only thing that greeting him was Anna's surprised smile.

"Just the man I was hoping to see," she grinned widely.

It took him a few minutes to register what she had said. He glanced over his shoulder and found there was no one standing behind him. There was no one else in the room. The smile was for him, only. She wanted to see him. Just him.

_Eat your heart out, Shooter. _Mort thought to himself.

"Mort?"

"Yeah?"

Anna laughed slightly. "You alright?"

His senses suddenly snapped back like a rubber band that had been stretched too tight. "Yeah, I'm fine. How are you?"

She motioned to the hospital bed. "I could be worse. They're talking about releasing me tomorrow. Sit down, please."

Mort pulled one of the chairs up to the side of bed. The scratch on her face had been covered with gauze, as had her right forearm. Her legs were covered with the standard hospital blanket but he could see bumps from what looked like a brace on her right leg. She held up something that caught his attention and he saw it was a copy of "Everyone Drops the Dime."

"I finally have some time to read it now," she grinned.

"You're in very good spirits for being hit by a car."

"Pain killers. They're wonderful things."

"Are…uh, are you really alright?"

"I'm fine, Mort. It was my own stupid fault." She tossed the book so it landed on the bedside table. "I've been putting off getting reflectors for the bike for a while now. It really was only a matter of time."

"I should have offered you a ride home," Mort blurted.

"I could have asked." Anna reached out and wrapped a cold hand around Mort's wrist. "Don't blame yourself for this. I'm going to be fine."

Mort realized she wasn't going to blame him for what happened. Shooter was wrong. It wasn't his fault. At least, Anna didn't feel it was his fault and that was all that mattered at the moment. He put her cold-fingered hand between his own and started to rub some warmth into it. He had no idea why hospitals were always so cold.

"So, what's the damage?" he asked.

"Superficial scrapes on my arms and face. A cracked patella that should heal just fine as long as I take it easy. I'll be on crutches for the rest of the summer and I'll have to go to physical therapy for a couple months."

So Shooter had been right in his assessment of her wounds. Which meant he really had been with her last night in the ICU ward. Was Shooter really his own identity now, no longer dependant on Mort himself? What did that exactly mean?

"Mort?"

"Yeah?"

"You alright? You look…scared."

"I'm fine." He gave her his best smile which apparently worked as he watched the concern leave her face.

"Good. I'm almost done with 'Everyone Drops the Dime.' I'm enjoying it a lot."

"Great."

"'Secret Window' kind of freaked me out though. It was good, I just couldn't go to sleep after it." A slight blush crept across Anna's otherwise pale complexion. "I actually had to ask the night nurse to put a nightlight in here."

Mort reached for her other hand and started to rub that one as well. He needed to do something, anything, to hide the shaking of his hands. "It definitely wasn't the best I've written."

"Are you still coming on Saturday?"

_Saturday? Oh yeah, her family's cookout, which meant her father would be there._ "I don't think it would wise for me to come."

"It's my father, isn't it? He's scared you off."

Mort tried to come up with another excuse but couldn't find one. "He doesn't like me and he makes it very well known. It would just be uncomfortable all around, for me and for your family."

Disappointment and aggravation marred Anna's features. "He does this every time."

"Your father?"

She laid back against the pillows with a grimace. "He still sees it as his duty to run off my boy-" Her eyes flew open as a deep crimson blush spread over her face and down her neck. "Uh, never mind."

Mort bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing. "Well, how about I stop by Sunday, unannounced of course, and offer to take you out to dinner."

Anna was chewing on her lower lip in an extremely bad effort to hide a smile. "Come by after five. My father always leaves by then to do a couple hours in the office. You'll have my sister and brother-in-law in face down then."

"I'll be ready for them then."

"Mort?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming to see me. I was afraid you weren't going to come."

Mort realized with a start that he still had Anna's hand in his own. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, shocked at how much her words had hit him. It seemed like it had been so long since someone looked forward to having his presence around. He actually felt his throat close up with emotion.

"I'll, uh, I'll always be here if…uh, if you want me to be."

Anna smiled brightly and squeezed his hand. "Good. I'd like that."

Mort gave her hand one final squeeze before standing up. "I should get going."

"Thanks again for coming, Mort. It was really good to see you again."

"It's good to know you're going to be alright."

Anna gave him a confident nod and he reluctantly released her hand. He stepped out of the room and onto an empty elevator. As the door closed, however, he became instantly aware of another presence in the enclosed space. He didn't have to turn to see who it was.

"I told ya, Mr. Rainey, that she would be in her own room this morning."

"Yes, you did." Mort turned to face Shooter and looked him dead in the eye. "And you listen to me you backwater hick, Anna's mine. You stay away from her."

"Don't you listen to _me_? She belongs to me as much as she belongs to you." Shooter grinned smugly and straightened his hat. "I hear we have a date on Sunday."

"I have a date on Sunday. You've got nothing."

"We'll see about that, Mr. Rainey. You see, I can give," Shooter leaned forward so close Mort could smell the tobacco on his breath, "and I can take away if you're not careful."


	7. Family Secrets

Ghost Writer

Chapter Seven: Family Secrets

"Anna, sit down already!"

"I'm tired of sitting, Kate!"

Kate threw down the wet dishtowel on the now clean counter. "Anna, you shouldn't be on that knee as much as you are right now!"

Anna thumped her way into the kitchen and leaned herself and her crutches on the counter. "I feel fine. I'm just…"

"Nervous about something." Kate noticed the semi-shocked look on Anna's face and smiled. "I'm the older sister for a reason. What's going on? Is it your meds?"

Anna waved her hand. "My meds have been working just fine. I've only seen two ghosts since I've been here."

Kate felt that familiar lump rise in her throat. "How often do you see them?"

"Not often at all actually."

"Good. So what's got you all worked up?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"Okay," Anna caved. "Can I ask you for a really big favor without you freaking out?"

Kate didn't like where this was going. "Go ahead."

Anna leaned over the counter and dropped her voice to a whisper. "I told Mort to stop by this evening."

"Please tell me you told him to come after five o'clock."

"Of course."

"Good." Kate went back to the sink and started to put away the dried dishes from the families' Sunday dinner. "So what's the favor? Don't tell Dad?"

"That and I was kind of hoping you wouldn't give him a rough time."

"Anna, you know me better than that."

"You were the one who wanted me to mail his clothes back to him."

"If he shows up, of course I'll be nice to him."

"Thank you."

Kate pulled one of Anna's pill bottles off the windowsill and shook out a pill. "Here, you're due for a pain pill."

Anna took the pill and swallowed it dry. "Thanks, Kate. I really mean it."

"I told you I'm the older sister for a reason. Go sit out on the porch. He should be here soon." Kate watched her sister hobbled out of the kitchen and onto the porch. She poured herself a cup of coffee and heard the dull thud of Anna's crutches hitting the floorboards of the porch.

Kate had tried to discourage Anna from making friends with anyone at Tashmore Lake. It was better that way, for all involved. But maybe she shouldn't try to protect Anna so much. If her meds were working then why not encourage her to establish friendships.

The crunch of gravel broke into her thoughts. Kate looked out the kitchen window and saw Mort's black Jeep pull up in the driveway. She watched him get out of the car and start to walk up the steps but suddenly stop. Kate stepped up to the screen door and started to ask him what was the matter when he came the rest of the way.

"She's asleep," he whispered. "I don't want to disturb her."

"It's alright." Kate opened the door. "Come in."

He looked at her like a cornered animal and Kate's heart went out to him. He gave her a slight smile and quietly stepped into the kitchen. He was much shorter than what she imagined, probably not quite six feet tall. He might be slightly taller than that if he wasn't slouching so much.

"You want something to drink, Mr. Rainey?"

"Uh, no, no thank you. I can come back later."

"No, this actually works out just fine. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute."

She watched him shove his hands into his pants pockets. "Alright."

"You can sit down, Mr. Rainey."

Reluctantly, he took one of the barstools by the breakfast counter and waited for her to start harassing him from the pained look on his face.

"Look, I know you're expecting me to say 'stay away from my sister' and so on, but I'm not. Actually, far from it."

"Really?" He sat up a little straighter.

"Anna is really good at figuring people out. She only opens up to those who are honest, kind and just good people. She seems to really like you which leads me to put more stock in her reaction to you than everyone else's reaction. But there is a slight problem that I think you should be aware of."

"Which is?"

"Mr. Rainey, what exactly has my sister told you about why she's here?"

"She, uh, said that she had a nervous breakdown from her job."

"Did she tell you what her job is?"

Mort nodded. "She works for the New York police department as a psychic."

Kate was surprised at how forthcoming Anna had been concerning her job. She usually didn't tell anyone what she did for a living. She must have really trusted him to reveal that much of her personal life. Kate took a deep breath. Now, she had trust Mort.

"Is something wrong with Anna?" he asked.

"Yes, but it's something that we're trying to get under control. Anna's 'nervous breakdown' was more of a psychotic break. She was formally diagnosed with schizophrenia."


	8. Putting the Pieces Together

Ghost Writer

Chapter Eight: Putting the Pieces Together

Anna felt someone shaking her shoulder and calling her name. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep. Opening her eyes, she found herself momentarily blinded by the sunlight. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes, Anna saw the silhouette of a woman in front of her.

"Kate?"

"No," the stranger answered. "I'm Amy."

Blinking back the spots in her eyes, Anna started to get a good look at Amy. She was surprised to find this was the ghost that she had seen walking around the lake. She was dressed casually with her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. "Am I dead?"

Amy laughed. "No, not yet."

Anna stood up and found the brace was gone from her knee. They were also no longer on her sister's porch but rather sitting on another porch…a screened in porch. Anna suddenly realized they were standing on the porch at Mort's lake house. "What are we doing here, Amy?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that."

"You do realize you're dead, right?"

Amy nodded her head. "I just don't understand how."

Anna felt herself slip into a familiar line of questioning. "Is this the last place that you remember?"

"Yes, I came here to have my husband sign divorce papers."

"Apparently it didn't go very well," Anna wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. She knew that Mort's ex-wife had gone missing but she never took the time to find out the woman's name. It unnerved her to no end this ghost had remembered it was Mort's cabin where she had possibly died. "Do you remember your husband's name?"

"Yes, but for some reason, I don't think he was the one that killed me. But…on the other hand…" Amy trailed off and started for the front door. Anna followed her as Amy stepped into the cabin. Anna had seen the inside of Mort's cabin just once, when he had pulled her out of the lake. She remembered it being warm, cozy and inviting. Nothing prepared her for the mess that greeted her through the open front door. Books and papers littered the floor. Anna took a step inside and a loud crunch caused her to jump back in surprise. She had stepped on an empty Mountain Dew can.

"What happened here?" Anna asked.

"I can't remember."

Anna noticed the word "Shooter" had been written in whip cream on the front windows of the cabin. Stepping through the mess on the floor, she found the same word deeply etched into the coffee table by the couch. There was also an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table which Amy touched.

"That explains a lot."

"What?"

"He's been drinking again."

Anna continued to walk around the downstairs of the cabin, noticing the entire first floor had the appearance of being totally and completely ransacked. Even dishes in the kitchen had been shattered and left all over the floor. Surely Mort was not living here when the cabin was in this condition. Anna heard the creak of someone walking up the steps and stepped out of the kitchen just in time to see Amy reach the second floor.

Warning bells suddenly went off in her subconscious and Anna ran up the stairs. By the time she had reached Amy, a door swung shut and revealed a man in the corner with a black felt hat pulled low over his face. Anna grabbed Amy's shoulder and pulled her back down the steps.

"Run, Amy."

Anna followed close on Amy's heels but slowed down to see if their attacker was following. Unfortunately, he was. His head was raised up and Anna could see his face. It was Mort after all. A flash of silver in his hand caught her eye and she saw he was wielding scissors. The shock of the realization caused Anna to stumble. Tripping over the last three steps, Anna hit the wooden floorboards of the cabin with a harsh thud.

"Anna!"

Anna awoke with a start and found herself staring up at her sister's concerned face. She felt sick to her stomach and could feel the cold sweat soaking into her clothes. Maybe it was just the pain medication that the doctors had given her. Maybe it had just been a dream brought on by all the speculations that she had heard. But when Anna lifted her head, she saw Amy standing behind Kate's shoulder.

"I remember what happened now," Amy said.

"Are you alright?" Kate was asking.

Anna nodded her head. "Yeah, fine. Just a bad dream."

"You want some water?"

"Yeah, that would be good. Thanks."

Anna waited for Kate to leave and turned to ask Amy what did happened when Amy took a couple steps away and started down the porch stairs. Anna looked back to the screen door and saw Mort stepping outside. Anna felt the sick feeling come back to her. She couldn't run here. All she had were crutches to defend herself.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Mort didn't kill me," Anna heard Amy's voice whisper in her ear. Anna gave Mort a shaky smile. Anna saw Amy's arm appear in her peripheral vision and point out to the Black Jeep. The ghost that had appeared in her room that one night was leaning against the vehicle. That frighteningly familiar black felt hat on his head. "He killed me."

"John Shooter?" Anna didn't realize she had even spoken the name aloud till she looked up at Mort and saw all color had drained from his face.


	9. Lost but Found

Ghost Writer

Chapter Nine: Found but Lost

"We need to go back."

Mort tried to ignore the ever-annoying presence of John Shooter, who had taken up a permanent residence in his line of vision. It had been going on four months since that day on the porch when Anna had spoken Shooter's name with fear and awe. Four months since he had seen or spoken to Anna. He really wasn't prepared for how much he missed her.

"Did you hear me?"

"Of course I heard you!" Mort snapped then looked around to see if anyone had noticed. No, of course not, there wasn't anyone around to notice. He was in his fourteenth hotel room, just another stop on the journey of trying to disappear. He didn't know what state he was in anymore, other than the state of confusion. He was tired and weary.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Mort stretched out on the hotel bed and stared at the ceiling. "We can't go back. Not now. Not when I…"

"When you what?"

Mort draped his arm over his eyes. "Not when I remember what I did."

"Now you remember? It's almost two months shy of a year and you're only now remembering!"

"Yes, you southern son of a-"

A sharp rap on the door interrupted Mort. Was someone coming to complain about his shouting? Had he ordered room service and forgotten already? Maybe his credit card was finally maxed out.

"Mort?"

The voice was feminine, definitely. He didn't check in under his real name. With heavy steps, he made his way to the door and stared out the peep hole. The sight that greeted him was so startling he actually took a step back and looked again. Anna was standing there, dripping wet and shivering. He watched as she raised her hand and knocked again. He could feel the wood give under his hand. Fumbling with the chain, Mort threw the door open.

"Anna?"

She gave him a smile despite the chattering of her teeth. She pulled a wet copy of "Everyone Drops the Dime" from under her coat. "You owe me an autograph."

Mort motioned for her to come into the room. He didn't trust his ability to speak at this point in time. Anna stepped across the threshold and Mort quickly shut the door. He grabbed a couple towels from the bathroom and handed them to Anna. She gave him a grateful smile and started drying off her hair.

"You're a very hard man to find, Mort."

"How did you find me?"

Anna shrugged. "I have my ways."

Mort looked around the room and found Shooter had completely disappeared. It was strange, unnerving but definitely not unwelcome. "So, uh, how's your knee?"

Anna took off her jacket and wrapped the second towel around her shoulders. "Good as new, believe it or not."

"Why are you here?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "I told you, you owed me an autograph. Besides, it's been what, four months, since you left Tashmore Lake? I was getting worried."

"And everyone else?"

Anna grimaced. "They sold your cabin. Some middle aged couple from Manhattan bought it."

Mort nodded. He really didn't have any particular drive to return to the cabin anymore. Not with Amy and Ted buried under his corn patch. He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

"You know I told you I can talk to ghosts?"

Mort didn't move or answer. Anna continued anyway.

"Well, I think you can too."

He dropped his hand and sat down on the bed opposite of Anna. "Why do you think that?"

"The ghost that I've been seeing around the lake has been Amy."

"Is that how you know about John Shooter?" Maybe she didn't know everything. Maybe she just had a face and a name. Nothing more. But how could he risk her suffering the same fate that Amy had? He had to get far from her and make sure the distance took.

Anna looked down at the comforter. "Actually, I saw John Shooter before Amy kind of took me on a tour of her last minutes."

Before Mort could react to what she had said, Anna had grabbed his shoulders and kneeling on the floor, looking up at him.

"Amy had a chance to point you out as the murderer but she didn't. He pointed to John Shooter. She realized the same thing that I did. You were not responsible for the murders."

Mort stood up suddenly, shrugging out of Anna's ice cold hands. "John Shooter was a creation of my own imagination. It was my responsibility to keep him in check."

Anna pulled herself up from the floor. "That's where you're wrong. I did some research in the last few months. I had nothing better to do being laid up with my knee. With Amy's help, I was able to piece together who exactly John Shooter is."

"Wha…what?"

"John Shooter is a ghost. It's that simple."

Mort grasped at the glimmer of hope that Anna had given him. "Who is he then?"

"Apparently, there was a man named John Kintner, who had his story plagiarized by a fellow college classmate. The classmate changed Kintner's ending and spent quite a few years trying to bring charges against him but Kintner was killed during in a farm machinery malfunction before the case was settled. John Shooter is Kintner, he's just haunting the wrong author."

"Who was the author?"

Anna shrugged. "Already dead, killed by a drunk driver."

Relief and wonderment washed over Mort like hurricane sized waves. "Are you going to tell Shooter, or should I?"

"He's already gone. He knew what I had to say before I walked in."

"I'm not crazy?"

"No."

"Then where did I get the idea for 'Secret Window?'"

Anna smiled widely. "I guess you're just a ghost writer too. Amy said you wrote that short story at night and under the influence of Jack Daniels."

Mort cringed at Anna having that knowledge but nodded anyway.

"Well," she continued, "psychic activity is usually strongest at night. The alcohol dropped your defenses enough for you to listen to the story that John Kintner was telling you. Basically, you do what I do, you write down the stories that ghost's tell you. You're a ghost writer."

The feeling of happiness came over him but quickly receded. "What about Amy and Ted? I still killed them."

"No, John Shooter killed them. He just used your body to do it."

Mort remembered telling Ted that intimidation made him feel icky but suddenly intimidation didn't hold a candle to what Anna had just said. "Possession?"

"It's been known to happen in some cases."

He suppressed a shiver.

"Look, Mort, I'm here for another reason, as well."

Mort watched Anna's face grow serious. The temperature in the room seemed to drop slightly and he wondered what was wrong with the thermostat. "Hang on a second."

He stepped over to the air conditioner and found that it was still set on the heater setting and blowing out hot air. It struck him as strange and he lifted a hand to the window to see if there was a draft but found none. That was when he noticed the weather. There was a full moon shining in a cloudless sky. The parking lot was bone dry. He looked back at Anna who was still dripping droplets of water onto the rug. She saw the confused look on his face and sighed deeply.

"The favor that I want to ask of you is going to be time consuming."

Fear was starting to gnaw away at the corner of his mind. "What is it?"

"I want you to write our story, of how we meet and so on. I thought it was a nice story. Two broken people that learned how to fix each other. I only hope that you can fix the ending. I'd like to see it end a little happier."

"Why didn't it end happy?" The words tasted like dust and he practically choked on them.

Anna's eyes filled up with tears. "Last night, I went sleepwalking. I ended up down by your cabin and I fell into the lake again. Only this time, you weren't there to pull me out."


	10. Posthumous

Ghost Writer

Epilogue: Posthumous

Kate dropped the last of the Christmas presents under the tree and checked her watch. It was two thirty in the morning.

"Merry Christmas," Greg came up to her and kissed her on the cheek. He was busy putting together a bike for Sarah. The completed product now sat under the multi-colored lights of the tree and Kate felt tears spring to her eyes. Anna had bought the bike for Sarah, complete with matching helmet and reflectors. They were going to wrap it in its box and put it together but the tag on it said it was from Anna. Not wanting to confuse the six year old, Greg took it out of the box and assembled it.

"I'm going to bed, hun."

"Okay," Kate returned the peck on the cheek and watched her husband wearily climb the stairs. The TV was still on and she picked up the remote. The news alert caused her to turn the volume up instead of the TV off. A perfectly groomed news reporter was delivering some not so good news this early Christmas morning.

"Sources from the Wisconsin police department have confirmed that the body found in the cabin has been identified as bestselling writer Morton Rainey."

Kate sank down onto the couch and watched as a photograph of Mort flashed up on the screen.

"Police say that they found the writer sitting at his desk with a self-inflicted gun shot wound to the head. On the desk, they found a completed manuscript which has been turned in to his publisher. New Haven Publishing Company has already agreed to publish the book, which is entitled 'Ghost Writer.'

"The suicide comes only a few months after the gruesome discovery of two bodies in the backyard of Rainey's New York cabin which was sold in early August. The two bodies were identified as Rainey's ex-wife, Amy Rainey and a real estate agent by the name of Ted Milner. No evidence was found to link Morton Rainey to the murders though the case was still under investigation."

Kate turned the TV off and sat back on the couch. She remembered the call that she had received from Mort the day after Anna's death. He had apologized profusely to her and told her how much Anna had meant to him during the brief time they had spent together. She could hear the grief in his voice and it only seemed to echo hers at the time.

As she sat there and listened to the quiet creaking of the house, Kate remembered back to that early spring day when Anna had first come out to the cabin to stay the summer. Kate had been baking cookies for Sarah's Brownie Troupe and Anna was eating the chocolate chips. If she listened carefully, Kate could still hear their voices drift into the living room from the kitchen.

"_Are you working on a story, Anna?"_

"_Yeah, this place seems to have a lot of stories that need to be told."_

"_Anything in particular?" _

"_Well, there is this blonde ghost that wanders around the lake. I think she's looking for someone." _

"_Do you know how the story is going to end?"_

"_I think it's going to be a murder-suicide." _

**The End**


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